When Grace Sings (42 page)

Steven

What a stupid decision he’d made, keeping secret his desire to be a teacher instead of a farmer. If he’d told someone—his parents, Anna—Grace, a friend—then one of them would point to Steven and tell Clete Zimmerman, “He’ll do it.” If others knew what he’d wanted since he was a young boy, they would all be happy for him, would say things like “God opened the door” or “This is the Father’s will, for sure.” But because he’d allowed his brother’s derision and choice to abandon their home to keep him silent, he couldn’t say anything now. They’d all be too shocked to consider it a real possibility.

He swallowed a groan. He’d thought his only chance to teach would be in a secular school, one that required its teachers to have a degree from a college. All of his thoughts had been to somehow get a degree. But the church-based school only needed a willing teacher. And he was willing. If they were willing to let a man teach their children.

Clete had left the dining room only a minute or two ago. Maybe Steven could catch up to him, find out how soon the fellowship wanted to put a teacher in place, find out whether they’d even consider a male teacher. Female teachers were common in the private, church-run schools, but most of them only taught for a short time and then chose marriage and a family over teaching other
people’s children. Maybe having a male teacher, one who would stick around, would appeal to the fellowship leaders in Arborville. He had to know.

He swiped his mouth with his napkin and leaped up. Anna—Grace gave him a curious look, and he paused long enough to assure her he’d be right back. Then he charged through the kitchen and out the back door, searching for Clete. He spotted the man at the far edge of the grassy yard climbing onto his tractor. He waved his hand over his head and yelled, “Clete! Clete, hold up!”

Clete, half on and half off of the old iron tractor, looked over his shoulder. As Steven ran across the yard toward him, he stepped back onto the ground and turned to face him. “Something wrong?”

“No, but I wondered …” A huge lump formed in Steven’s throat, blocking his windpipe. He coughed into his hand, inwardly praying for courage. “You told your mom the church school will need a new teacher. Do you know when?”

“Well, by February for sure. Although Miss Reimer said she wouldn’t mind going to Weaverly sooner, to get settled into the community before then.”

“Would y-you”—
Don’t stammer!
—“consider hiring a man to teach the schoolchildren?”

A mild frown formed on Clete’s face. “A man?” He shifted his ball cap on his head. “We’ve never had a man teacher, but I don’t know that we would have anything against it. Do you know of a man who’s interested in teaching?”

Steven’s pulse doubled its pace. “I … I do.”

“In some ways it might be a good thing to have a man in the schoolhouse. Someone stronger, who would keep the older boys in line a little better.” Clete chuckled. “I know my kids behave better for me sometimes than they do for their mother—something about my deeper voice, probably.” Then he gave a rueful scowl. “But the salary we can pay … We’re a small fellowship. I doubt we’d be able to offer enough for a man to take care of his family.”

Ideas raced through Steven’s mind, almost dizzying. He wouldn’t need a big salary—not if he continued to receive rent for his farmland. And his house
was paid for. He could afford to take a modest salary from the fellowship, thanks to the blessings he’d received from his parents.

Clete said, “There are a couple of younger ladies in town who aren’t working right now and are the right age for teaching. The fellowship plans to ask them about filling in for Miss Reimer. Surely one of them will accept since it’s only to finish out the year. Then we’ll search harder for a new teacher to start next spring.” He clapped Steven on the shoulder. “I’d better get to work now. The winter wheat won’t plant itself, you know.”

Steven backed up as Clete started the engine on the tractor. The rumble vibrated the ground and sent tremors up Steven’s legs. He turned and walked slowly toward the house, replaying Clete’s comments in his mind.
God, You know my desires. You always have. I didn’t want to come to Arborville. I only came to honor my parents, but now Arborville needs a teacher. It all seems so perfect to me, but is it only my wishful thinking making it seem right?
He came to a stop beneath the clothesline and reached up to grip the thin wires, holding tight.

It’s probably foolish of me to get my hopes up. I don’t even know yet if Anna—Grace will want to stay here. All this time I’ve wanted her to choose no so I could sell the property and use the money for college. But now …
 He jerked his hand free of the line. The wire sent out a whine that slowly faded into silence. He lowered his head, uncertain what to say next. How he hated these jumbled thoughts and feelings. If only God would write the answer in the sky.

He sighed and ended his prayer the way his parents had taught, the way Jesus Himself had instructed His disciples.
Your will be done, my Father. Your will
 …

Alexa

Even though she knew Briley was waiting, Alexa took her time cleaning up the breakfast mess. If only she could turn back the clock and redo her evening with
Briley. If only he wasn’t a reporter from Chicago who had the potential to expose Mom’s wrongdoing. If only … She slapped the dishwasher’s door closed and drooped over the countertop. If only she could truthfully call herself a Zimmerman—if not by blood, by legalities—so there wouldn’t be a story to report.

She grabbed her sweater from a peg by the back door and headed for the barn. God didn’t hold Mom’s youthful indiscretions against her. Paul Aldrich and her family had forgiven her, too. They’d all offered grace, as had the Arborville fellowship, who included Alexa in their fold even though she wasn’t a member of their church and of an illegitimate birth. But Briley wasn’t family, and he wasn’t part of the Mennonite fellowship. She was pretty sure he didn’t possess a relationship with God at all. She wouldn’t hope for grace from him.

The heavy barn door hung in the closed position. She pressed her palms to the edge and gave a mighty push. It resisted moving, the old rollers in the track rusty and stiff from age, but she put her full weight against the door and created a gap wide enough for her to step through. The outside air held a bite this morning, but the thick barn walls and insulating bales of hay made the barn’s interior comfortable. It was quiet, too—a good place for a private conversation. If only the subject didn’t promise to be so painful.

When she entered the barn, Briley rose from a short bench tucked in front of one of the stalls and moved toward her in his usual self-assured stride. If only he’d smile, tease, even wave a copy of that ridiculous photograph under her nose. But instead he approached with a solemn expression that sent chills from the base of her spine to the top of her head. She stopped short in the middle of the floor and allowed him to close the distance between them.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” His words held a hint of criticism.

“I almost didn’t. I really don’t want to talk to you. I’ve already said too much.” Far, far too much. The regret panged through her, and she folded her arms over her rib cage. “But I decided—”

He held up his hand. “Don’t talk. I don’t want you to talk. I want you to
listen.” He caught her elbow and led her to the bench. With a gentle push he settled her on it, then took a step away and faced her, his feet widespread and his arms crossed. His tall form created a formidable barrier between her and the door, and for a moment she questioned the wisdom of being out here alone with him. Uncle Clete was in the field, but the rumble of the tractor would keep him from hearing her yell if she needed him. Should she have insisted on meeting in the living room, where Grandmother was close by?

He began to speak, and his tone chased away her worry. He sounded more apologetic than antagonistic. “You knew all along I’m a reporter. You knew I came to Arborville so I could write an article about living the Plain lifestyle. So when you talked to me last night, you had to know that everything you said could be used in my article.”

He’d told her not to talk, but she couldn’t stay quiet. “But I didn’t know! You called yourself ‘Big Brother Briley,’ and you told me I’d feel better if I talked about what was bothering me. You weren’t being a reporter last night, you were being my friend. I … I
trusted
you.”

He cringed, proving her protest hit its mark. But then he cleared the expression and pinned her with a stern look. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but what you have to accept is that we’ve only known each other for a few weeks. Sure, we’ve become friends. Sort of. But once I leave here, will our friendship continue? Doubtful. Chicago and Arborville are too far apart. Your lifestyle and mine are too far apart. So you can’t expect me to throw away the best story of my career over a temporary, short-term relationship.”

Alexa nodded wildly. “Yes, I can. Because your story will affect the most important, lifelong relationship I have!”

He let his head drop back and released a heavy breath. “Alexa …”

She jumped up and curled her hands over his muscular forearms. “Briley, please.” She waited until he met her gaze. “You’ve been in Arborville for more than a month. You’ve gathered other information. Can’t you write your article without including my mom or me?”

Anger flared in his dark eyes. He stepped free of her light grasp. “No, I can’t. Because I didn’t find anything else that proves what I set out to prove.”

“And what is that?”

“That you people aren’t perfect. That you’re no different than anybody living in the cities. That you don’t deserve the public’s admiration and envy.”

She gawked at him, too stunned to speak. He’d come hoping to find ways to denigrate the faith of the people living in Arborville? And she’d handed him a reason on a silver platter.
Lord, forgive me
 … Tears flooded her eyes.

He released a low growl through his clenched teeth. He marched a few feet away and stood with his back to her. “I will not let you make me feel guilty about this. My boss sent me here to find dirt. I found it. I did my
job
.” He spun to face her, his eyes flashing fire. “When I get back to Chicago and I write my story, my name will be on the front page for the first time. Front page, Alexa. Do you understand the significance of that?”

A snide laugh left his throat. “Of course you don’t.” His gaze narrowed and he jabbed his thumb against his chest. “But I do. Only the writers of merit get front-page coverage. It’s a recognition I’ve wanted for … for years.” His stiff frame wilted, and he shook his head, the fierce expression turning to one of longing. “You were raised by a woman who found you instead of birthed you, but I bet she encouraged you, didn’t she? Told you how much she loved you, told you when you did well in school, praised you and made you feel important. Am I right?”

Mom’s familiar endearment—
“You’re my gift”
—rolled through her heart, followed by a wave of pleasant memories. Anna—Grace had been right. She was lucky to have such a wonderful mother. “Yes. Even though I didn’t have a dad, Mom made sure she loved me enough for two parents. I never questioned that I was loved.”

“Well, I can’t say the same thing. I never felt loved. Never felt important or needed. In fact, when I was a kid, they put me in special classes because it took me until I was nine years old before I learned to read. So I got called ‘dummy’
a lot.” He grimaced, as if the voices from the past were tormenting him now. “Teachers, foster parents, social workers … they all said I’d never amount to anything. I was too wild, too lacking in intelligence and common sense, too uncaring. For a long time I acted out. I broke every rule my foster parents made. I refused to do my homework. I told everybody I didn’t care what any of them thought. I figured, prove them right—why not? If I was unlovable, then it didn’t matter that nobody loved me.”

Even though his tone was brisk, businesslike, she sensed that the remembrances hurt. They hurt her, and they weren’t her memories. “I’m sorry, Briley.”

He huffed out a breath and waved his hand, dismissing her words. “It’s over. Water under the bridge. And none of it really matters anymore. Except this.” His face stony, he scuffed slowly toward her. “I made a promise to myself to prove them wrong. To show the teachers who thought I was stupid and the foster parents who thought I’d never amount to anything that I can be successful. I’ve been waiting for the chance to see my name under a front-page lead story, and now I have it. I can’t give that up.”

His hands descended on her shoulders, holding her in place. He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “I’ll change the names. I’ll do that much to protect you.”

She released a sad laugh. “Changing the names won’t protect me. Arborville is so small the people here will recognize my mom and me in a heartbeat. They live a simple lifestyle, but they aren’t stupid, Briley.” And eventually the authorities would figure it out, too, putting Mom at risk of prosecution.

His lips formed a grimace. He shook his head. “I’m sorry it’ll be uncomfortable for you, but I’m telling the story. I’ve waited too long and worked too hard to just let it go.”